


Fever dreams

by Outdoorsy



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Other, Panic Attacks, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Endgame, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-12 15:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19134955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Outdoorsy/pseuds/Outdoorsy
Summary: ENDGAME SPOILERSTony Stark has been hauting Peter for the last months. He is everywhere and nowhere. He left this hole in Peter's world and he can't deal with it. And why did no one dare tell his AIs he was dead?





	1. Black out

Black out

 

The day Peter Parker's life changed _again_ had not started out very well. When he had woken to the annoying beeping of his alarm clock, he had felt as if his head was going to implode. Add a stuffed nose to this and his enhanced senses were close to going haywire, but he knew that he couldn't miss today. They had a big decathlon competition coming up and as always Flash was challenging for his spot.

 

Getting up and shuffling over to the bathroom to brush his teeth and at least get rid of the disgusting feeling in his mouth Peter couldn't help but think that there must me a reason why Flash only ever challenged him. It was a given that he didn't like him, but didn't that also mean he was the weakest member on the team? He groaned. His headache kept him from thinking straight. He turned off the lights and made his way back to his room, a bit more alert but still not fully awake.

 

The sun that had started to rise shone right into his room and normally he would have enjoyed it, but now it felt like a stabbing sensation between his eyebrows so he closed his eyes and carefully made his way over to the window to shut the blinds, using one hand trailing along the furniture to guide him.

It was then that he dropped one of his most precious belongings. Number one was of course his suit. Especially now as no one could repair it for him. The basic things he could do himself, but everything beyond that was forever broken and painfully reminded him of how quickly his life had changed.

 

Number two was the broken picture frame he now picked up, containing the picture he had had taken together with Mr. Stark. And now the glass had shattered and Peter really had to try hard not to start crying again. He had done enough crying in the last 2 months since the battle.

 

"Peter? Are you up?" Aunt May. In all this time she had been a great help and had once again proven her worth as the best guardian one could imagine, but this was something even she couldn't fix.

"Yes!" He shouted back, his own voice ringing in his ears.

 

He went through school in a haze. The headache was strong enough to even block out Flash's constant nagging. He knew that he had to survive until practice, but in the last lesson it got too much and Ned basically had to drag him to the nurses office to get some painkillers that didn't even help. Sometimes his enhanced metabolism was shit.

 

He was not entirely sure how he survived decathlon practice and managed to stay on the team, but here he was on his way out of school. Time for his daily patrol, something he would not miss, even with this nagging and stabbing headache.

 

It seemed as if the criminals in New York had taken a step back ever since Tony Stark died. It was as if they respected his death and wanted to give him time to grieve, even though he sometimes hoped to get into a good fight again, just to take his mind off things.

 

In the last weeks he had rescued two kittens, had helped an old lady to find her glasses again, had gotten the ball out of a big tree for a few kids and had stopped one armed robbery, but it had only been a knife so it really felt dangerously quiet. Not that he would complain, but if he had the choice between this and the time before, the time with Mr. Stark, he could have answered in a split second.

 

"Good afternoon, Peter." Karen greeted him and he nodded in reply. He didn't feel very chatty today. It was not like AIs had feelings he could hurt anyways.

 

He had found a nice spot on a skyscraper overlooking Queens and waited for something to happen. It would not be too bad if nothing happened though. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, not an easy undertaking since the mask covered his face, but it at least took some of the stinging sunlight away.

 

After a while he got up and started swinging through the side alleys of Queens, just to do something. It was then he noticed this guy. He turned around every few steps as if he was afraid that someone was following him. Peter followed him for the better part of 10 minutes before he suddenly ducked behind a container.

He emerged again, wearing a ski mask, holding a gun. So his one day he would have rather spent in bed had started to get interesting.

 

He kept on following the guy to a small bank branch, but before he could enter, Peter dropped down and positioned him between the door and the guy.

"I recommend you drop that gun." He tried his cocky attitude that usually worked, but today it didn't. The guy just started laughing and aimed his gun at him. It might have been the headache that kept Peter from reacting faster, but the moment he shot a net at the guy, the guy also fired.

 

After a short struggle Peter had him all webbed up and dropped him in front of the nearest police station before he made his way up to a rooftop to lick his wounds. The gunshot had made his ears ring and it was only now that he noticed that Karen was trying to speak to him.

 

"I suggest you seek immediate medical attention. Even with your enhanced healing a gunshot wound should not be treated lightly."

Gunshot wound? Peter looked down his body and noticed dully, that he was bleeding from what seemed to be a graze on his thigh. Nothing major. Give it 2 hours and he would be as good as new.

 

The only thing that bothered him was that the loss of blood added dizziness to his headache and with a small groan he sat down and leaned his back against a chimney.

 

"Your body temperature is rising and you're suffering from blood loss." Karen informed him. He could have guessed as much. Just rest for a few minutes and then he would be good to go.

"I've activated the baby monitor protocol. Mr. Stark will be here in a few minutes."

 

Peter choked. Of course- how could his AI know that Mr. Stark would never do anything ever again? He felt tears welling up and hated himself for it. Mr. Stark was dead and he was alone and would never see him again and he could have stopped it, but he had been too weak and now Mr. Stark was dead and...

 

"I recommend you take a few deep breaths and try to calm down." What did an AI know about emotions? All the empathy was only part of a program and the program had been built by Mr. Stark and he didn't know how to change the programming. How to turn off the baby monitor protocol or make Karen stop talking about Mr. Stark as if he was still alive.

 

Before the AI could give any other instructions, Peter pulled off his mask. So what if there were security cameras here to see that Spiderman was just a pathetic, crying high school student?

The pain that had only been there on the back of his mind, a constant, dull reminder of his loss, returned with full force. They had not even gotten a chance to say goodbye to Mr. Starks body at the funeral. A closed casket ceremony so that everyone would remember how he had looked in life, but not in death.

 

His breathing quickened and Peter knew that he was working himself into a panic attack right now, he knew the feeling all too well from all these sleepless nights he had spent crying in his room, crying in the bathroom at school, crying on rooftops.

One should think he had no tears left but here they were, matting his face and leaving ugly trails on his cheeks.

 

Through his blurry vision he noticed a flash of red and gold. An imagination, a hallucination, a daydream.

"Peter?" So it spoke. Wow, his fever must be really high. Why couldn't he hallucinate monsters like everyone else? Why did it always have to be Mr. Stark.

When the face plate would lift to reveal an empty suit of armour Peter would ask himself why no one had shut down the armoury. Why did no one tell the AIs Mr. Stark was dead?

 

"Spiderling, calm down."

 

How could he? Mr. Stark was dead and this mockery didn't help him get over it. Would he ever get over it? Probably not. How could he live his life like this? Would the pain ever become less?

 

Black dots had started to fill his vision and when the faceplate lifted he closed his eyes. He didn't want to see the emptiness, the loss, the vacuum in this universe, the hole left by the greatest human being there had been.

"Peter, open your eyes."

Even the voice sounded real and his breath hitched, but he couldn't help but follow the order. He was too used to this, used to listening to Mr. Stark.

 

It was as if his brain knew what to do. Dancing black dots that slowly assembled to a curtain to block him from the world obscured his vision.

Assembled.

It was ironic how this word could trigger memories. Avengers assemble. There was no Avengers left. There was no Iron Man.

 

After an excruciating long while Peter finally passed out.


	2. Dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ATTENTION: Graphic description of a panic attack

  1. Dreaming 



It was like he had been submerged in water and only slowly was getting back to the surface. The first thing he noticed was voices. They sounded angry, upset, worried. Peter couldn't quite pinpoint it, but it was certainly not comforting.

 

"...stupid!"

 

"...sick..."

 

"...lay low..."

 

"Don't attract attention..."

 

He had heard these voices before. They sounded oddly familiar and it made his stomach churn. His breathing quickened and when he opened his eyes he couldn't see. Everything was black and it felt like the world was closing in on him. He was getting nauseated by the second and tried to swallow down the saliva that had started pooling in his mouth.

 

Then...

 

"...Tony!"

 

Finally he was able to place these voices. In a swift motion Peter rolled over and started gagging, his vomit splattering on the floor. After a few seconds he could breathe again and he lifted his head. He could now make out that he was in a small room, lying on a bed, all the lights were off.

He could deal with pain, he could deal with despair, he could deal with fear. But there was one thing he could not deal with.

Hope.

 

Hope was dangerous, it crept up on you, made you believe that everything would be ok again even if there was no way to fix it. Hope was the one thing that kept you struggling; it made you lose your ground. It made you lose your grasp on reality and it hurt you every second you had it. It was the last resort, the thing people would hold onto as if it were their dear life, when all it did was give you a few seconds of wishing for something to spend the next hours on crushing that wish. Hope made you foolish, it took your ability to think and now it was like something sitting on his chest, pressing out all the air and keeping him from breathing.

 

Peter gasped and heaved again. There was nothing left so there was only a small thread of bile running from his mouth. He coughed, tried to breath and couldn't. The world had started turning. At some point his ears started ringing and he couldn't hear the voices anymore. He was caught in his own mind and now the only thing he was hoping for was to finally lose consciousness.

 

But before he could finally succumb into darkness, someone started shaking his shoulder and it disrupted his thoughts.

 

"Peter? Peter, can you hear me?" A female voice.

 

Tears obscured his vision, but he knew that face.

 

"Mrs. Potts?" He croaked, willing himself from starting to gag again. The nausea had not subsided yet.

 

"Yes, I'm here." She started brushing the hair out of his eyes, caressing his cheek and then pulled him into a hug, not caring about the vomit on the floor.

"We were so worried!"

She helped him sit up and straightened the blanket. Then she took Peter's hands and looked him in the eyes. "Breath with me."

Finally, after a long while just following her breath Peter felt like his mind was clearing up again. He knew this room. It was one of the rooms in the Avengers compound, but he had no idea how he had gotten here.

 

The memory came crashing in like a Tsunami and before he knew what was happening he had vomited all over himself, the blanket and Mrs. Potts.

"Hey." She placed a cool hand on his neck. "You're ok."

 

He was not ok. This was the worst fever dream he had ever had. Why did his subconscious try to convince him that there was a Mr. Stark. He had seen him die, he had been at his funeral and he could not deal with this. Mrs. Potts helped him sit against the end of his bed.

 

"I'm going to get you some water and something to clean you up, but I think there is someone who wants to see you in the meanwhile."

 

With a small sigh Peter leaned his head against the wall behind him. The panic attack had not helped his overall fatigue and he was feeling drained. Who would even want to meet him?

 

The door opened again and Peter once again felt like he couldn't breath. Thankfully, the darkness came fast this time.

 

When he woke again someone had switched on the lamp on his bed stand.

 

"Back with us, kid?" The lamp only illuminated half his face, but he recognized him in a split second.

 

Why couldn't he dream of monsters like normal people? Why did it always have to be Mr. Stark?

 

"Peter?"

 

Clearly a dream, Mr. Stark never called him by his name. He swallowed down the rising nausea and asked. "Could you punch me?"

 

"Why would I punch you after everything you've been through?"

 

"I just want to wake up. You're dead, so you're clearly something my brain made up."

He didn't even have the strength to lift his head. It felt like stones were weighing him down.

Dream-Mr.-Stark didn't move. He sighed and ran a hand over his face.

 

"Do I really need to punch you to show that I'm real?"

 

"How else should I believe it? I was there when you died! We even had a funeral!"

 

Tears had started to pool in his eyes and his breathing quickened again. Dream-Mr.-Stark sighed again and began.

"Listen kid, you're really sick and need to rest, but let me tell you as much: Not everyone who looks like they are not breathing are dead and our friend Strange knows a lot about medical stuff. But they were not sure if I'd ever wake up and I had a very bad night once so they decided to give the public closure."

 

"So I'm only part of the public?" His voice was barely more than a whisper. Peter closed his eyes and let the first tear drops coat his cheeks in a thin salty layer.

 

"I was planning on telling you, but I only woke up a week ago and I'm still not very fit. You can imagine how angry Pepper was when I went out to get you. But when the distress call reached me I just couldn't stay here. I bet the news are already going haywire, but we'll have a press conference at some point."

 

He sat back. "Anyways, I think we both need our sleep. Just ask Friday when you need me."

 

With that Mr. Stark got up and left Peter. He was still wondering whether this was the best or the worst dream he had ever had, but for now sleep sounded like a good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is probably not my most brilliant work, but I hope you enjoyed it anyways! As always I'll be happy to get feedback!

**Author's Note:**

> This just came to me and I felt like writing it. I hope I can continue and keep it up. Encouragement as well as constructive criticism is very welcome! I'm sorry for any grammar mistakes as I am not a native speaker.


End file.
